Chapter 5

CHAPTER FIVE

G race awoke completely disoriented. Then all at once everything that happened the day before rushed back to her with the intensity of a storm. Her ankle throbbed and her hands were covered in bandages. No, it hadn't been a dream or a nightmare. At once she felt the panic of yesterday, the coldness that had seeped into her, the animal call she'd heard that had scared her. She could have easily perished in the woods, had Ollie not rescued her.

The very thought filled her with a mixture of emotions. He'd said that she was either very brave or very foolish. Yesterday she'd thought she'd been brave, but now she realized that she was very foolish indeed. But a warmth filled her as she thought about Ollie. He had saved her. His manners were polite and put her at ease, though she originally felt like an intruder being in his house without a chaperone. He had been the perfect gentleman, and had helped her in every way. He had seen to her comfort and her care. She smiled as she remembered the way he'd read about plants in such a dull voice. It was the last thing she could distinctly recall before falling asleep.

She didn't know what time it was, and the covered windows gave no indication of the hour, or if it was still snowing. She heard the wind and then a loud bang. "Hello?" she said into the darkness.

Heavy footfalls sounded and then a knock sounded on the door. "Grace, do you need something?"

She looked around, trying to make sense of the dark room. "I should like to come out, if you please."

He opened the door slowly before stepping inside. Light spilled in through the open doorway. "I am sorry if I disturbed you. I just came in from feeding the horses. Were you trying to get my attention for long?"

That explained the clatter she'd heard. "No. I heard you come back in." She took in the man before her. Ollie was tall and handsome. She'd noticed as much last night.

He came toward her. "How did you sleep?"

She swallowed. The idea of a gentleman asking after her in such an intimate way felt strange. And yet, she knew that he was only asking out of genuine concern. He'd made that very clear last night. "I slept as well as could be expected considering the circumstance."

"That is good to hear," he said. "I wasn't sure how long you would sleep, and I didn't want to disturb you. Poseidon gets a little temperamental if I don't feed him first thing in the morning. And there were a few other chores I had to take care of."

"Poseidon?" Grace asked.

"My horse. He's the hardest-working horse I've ever known. He can out pace any horse with such endurance, and he never seems to tire."

"He's probably never thrown you either," she said.

"I've been thrown before," Ollie said. "But not by him. He's really quite gentle, unless he doesn't get fed. Then he can act very wild." He put one arm under her knees, the other around her shoulders, and picked her up effortlessly.

Grace clung to his neck. He had carried her multiple times yesterday, but she hadn't realized how close they'd been until this moment. He smelled of soap and cedar, a pleasant combination. Her breathing was shallow until he put her down on the settee. "Thank you," she said, her throat suddenly dry from the close contact. Yesterday had been a hazy blur, but today everything was in much sharper focus.

Ollie pulled a blanket over her and seemed to take great care in covering her bare ankles and toes with a significant portion of the fabric. "Are you hungry for some breakfast?"

"I am a little hungry," she said, her stomach growling. She kept a blanket around her shoulders, and Ollie put a pillow underneath her swollen ankle.

"I will be back in a few minutes with some food," he said .

Grace took the opportunity to survey the small cottage while Ollie was in the kitchen. Last night, she hadn't paid too much attention to the details. The style of the rooms dated the cottage to perhaps sixty years ago. The cottage was clean and maintained. The main living space had only a few pieces of furniture for sitting, but all of them seemed in very good repair. There were a few small tables. The large fireplace was already crackling. The cheery blaze filled the room with heat.

Somewhere behind her she knew there was a kitchen, and likely a dining room, though she hadn't seen either. Every window was flanked with heavy draperies that reflected a Georgian style with its bold colors, trimmed with gold. There were a few landscape paintings on the walls, but no portraits in this room.

"I wasn't quite sure what you wanted, but I made you a plate," Ollie said as he entered the room. The plate contained toast, eggs, and pork. The dishes were a beautiful pattern, the china pristine. It wasn't what she'd expected from Ollie at all.

"Thank you," she said, her stomach rumbling at the sight of a meal.

"Do you need help eating?" he asked, eyeing her bandages.

"I will try and manage," she said, her cheeks heating as she remembered how intimate it had felt when he fed her last night. She pushed her bandages away from her fingers and grasped the fork. She pushed through the initial stinging on one of her fingers and began eating.

"I don't suppose you have a carriage," she said between bites.

He tilted his head, studying her. Finally, he answered, "There is no carriage house here, and you've seen the size of my stable. A carriage would not fit."

Grace's cheeks burned. "Oh, I did not mean offense in the question. I only wanted to borrow it to get to my cousin's house."

He smiled at her, leaning back in his chair with ease. "There is no offense taken. I wish I had a carriage here that I could loan you. But as it is, the snow is still falling hard. Even if you were perfectly better from your injuries, I would not attempt going so far by horseback today. Storms like these are storms to be weathered while inside, not outside."

Grace nodded, disappointed that her journey would be delayed. She had hoped Ollie would be able to take her straight to her cousin's house today in a carriage, but now that idea was dashed.

She took a bite of her toast and looked around the room again. "What do you do, Ollie? I mean, during the day, what do you do when you are not rescuing damsels in distress in the woods, and taking care of them after?"

Ollie smiled. "I confess I do not make rescuing a regular part of my routine. Only God does the rescuing, though sometimes all He has is us mere mortals as tools."

A shadow flitted across his face, but in the next instant it was gone, and Grace was left to wonder if she'd only just imagined it.

"So, when you aren't rescuing damsels, you are …" She let the question hang in the air between them.

He swallowed his bite of food. "I am hunting out here. Yesterday when I came upon you, Apollo had been restless, so we went looking for foxes."

"Did you find any?"

"As it turns out, I completely abandoned hunting when I saw a beautiful riderless horse."

"I am sorry to have thrown off your day in such a way."

Ollie shook his head. "Don't be. I am not. And truly I am grateful that we found you so quickly." Ollie swallowed. "You shouldn't ride off alone like that, especially not in the woods."

She felt the reprimand fully. "I know that now." Silence stretched between them as they continued eating their food. She took the opportunity to study Ollie. His light hair was more blond than brown, though in this light it was a mixture of both. She already knew that he was both tall and strong, but she could see the way his muscles filled out his coat. He was dressed simply, but though the material was coarse, it looked as if each piece had been tailored to fit him. When his striking blue eyes landed on her with such depth, she found it hard to swallow or speak. "So you hunt, and …"

"And I ride my horse, and I play with my dog," he said. He crossed his booted ankle over his knee and smiled at her, as if they were having afternoon tea together. "What do you do to occupy yourself when you're not riding out alone on a dangerous road?"

"It wasn't dangerous when I started out," she said, the defiance rising in her.

His eyes twinkled, as if he were enjoying the joke at her expense. "I beg to differ. The road is always dangerous to an unaccompanied woman. Just because you didn't know or see the dangers, doesn't make it less dangerous. The weather was truly one of the least of your concerns."

"Touché, Ollie." She lowered her eyes to her plate when the look in his eyes turned intense. She grasped for something else to say, how she should answer his question. "Besides riding Honey, which I dearly love to do, I suppose I do the usual female things. One always has something to accomplish, be it an embroidery or a painting."

Ollie smiled. "I do not have any embroidery here, though I doubt you should use needles with bandaged hands."

They finished breakfast, and Ollie took the plates and brought her another cup of tea. The warmth filled Grace.

"May I look at your hands?" he asked, coming to sit beside her in a chair.

She held out her bandaged hands to him. He took off the bandages and examined the angry red and pink scratches.

"How do they look?" she asked. She'd not dared to remove the wrappings herself.

"I think they could use more ointment," he said warily .

She nodded. "Whatever will keep me from a fish hook infection."

He poured the ointment onto a clean cloth and gently touched each of her scratches, but this time it didn't hurt as much. She moved her hand to her head and winced.

He looked up. "What is the matter?" he asked, but before she had time to respond that it was nothing, he inspected the side of her face. "You have a cut in your hair. How did I not see that yesterday?"

"It is nothing. Just barely a scratch."

"Do you trust me to clean it out?" he asked.

"I do," she said.

"I promise to inflict as little pain as possible," he said, sincerity radiating in his voice.

It was the voice that had lulled her to sleep with such richness. Perhaps he had only been teasing her when he had said that he didn't read well. It was too bad he'd picked such a dull book. His speaking voice was the type that should read Shakespeare or poetry. Perhaps he would let her request a reading this evening. Her cheeks burned at the thought. Of all the nonsensical things she could think, she shook her head at the silly notion and bumped into his hand.

"I'm sorry," she said.

"No, I am sorry. I was trying to be gentle, but there is hair matted into the wound."

"It didn't hurt, I was only distracted," she said, trying her best to hold completely still .

In a matter of minutes, he said, "There. I think that will help," he said. "How is your ankle?"

"It is still quite sore," she admitted.

"I imagine it is," he said. "I will make a remedy for it that my grandmother taught me. But you must give it time to heal. You'll be well enough in no time."

She nodded.

"Perhaps we can do something to take your mind off of your ankle," he said.

"What do you suggest?"

"I have an old checkers set. Are you up for a game?"

"Only if you are not a sore loser," she said.

His lips twitched. "I believe I can hold my own in this game." He set up the board and the pieces on the table next to her. "Let me know which piece you want to move and where, and I will move them for you so you can rest your hands."

They played a few games, talking through their turns. She told him about her childhood and her sisters. He told her a little about his family too. She didn't get many specific details about his family; however he told many adventurous stories involving his horses and his dogs. They talked about their favorite family traditions, and she told him how much she enjoyed singing with her sisters. She usually played the pianoforte while they sang during the holidays.

Apollo came and nudged Grace's hand. "Apollo, you must be on my team. Which piece shall I move next to win this game? "

Ollie laughed. "Apollo is only trained in one type of game—the kind he finds in the woods. He shall not be any help to you."

Grace laughed. "That is quite alright," she said, brushing her bandaged hands down his long coat. "I will claim him for my team anyway."

Apollo panted, then laid his head on Grace's lap for the remainder of the game.